(Continued from Panama, Part I and Panama, Part II)
On our way to El Valle de Anton we switched buses several times, each one miraculously taking us EXACTLY where we wanted to go! We decided that with all of our good luck, we had to be on un autobus de Karma... Entonces, en que nosotros saltamos!
On the last bus to the pueblo we packed in like sardines. Jason actually stood on the last step of the bus, with the door wide open behind him. As we sped around sharp corners and acsended and decended through the mountains, Jason held on for dear life, his knuckles turning white from gripping the handrails, and Mikey and my knuckles turning white from gripping his wrists to hold him in the bus.
The bus helper stood beyond Jason, outside the bus, with one hand jammed in between the open bus door and the side wall and his foot occupying a miniscule corner of the step. He was perfectly comfortable, as if he had done this a million times.
We arrived in El Valle as dusk was settling upon the sleepy little mountain town, and just as we set off to find a place to camp, a white man in an old Buick pulled up and, in English, asked if we were looking for a place to stay. We were immediately skeptical, and tried to shoo him off, but he started to tell us about himself. He owned a hotel in town called El Capitan, he said. He built it when he moved here after retiring from the German navy. Jason was immediately intrigued and struck up a conversation with him in German. He liked us, told us he had several open rooms, and that we could stay there for $10 a night. With large storm clouds forming on the horizon, we agreed, crammed in the back of his Buick, and were off to El Capitan in the Karma Buick.
We arrived at the hotel... and were amazed.
On our way to El Valle de Anton we switched buses several times, each one miraculously taking us EXACTLY where we wanted to go! We decided that with all of our good luck, we had to be on un autobus de Karma... Entonces, en que nosotros saltamos!
On the last bus to the pueblo we packed in like sardines. Jason actually stood on the last step of the bus, with the door wide open behind him. As we sped around sharp corners and acsended and decended through the mountains, Jason held on for dear life, his knuckles turning white from gripping the handrails, and Mikey and my knuckles turning white from gripping his wrists to hold him in the bus.
The bus helper stood beyond Jason, outside the bus, with one hand jammed in between the open bus door and the side wall and his foot occupying a miniscule corner of the step. He was perfectly comfortable, as if he had done this a million times.
We arrived in El Valle as dusk was settling upon the sleepy little mountain town, and just as we set off to find a place to camp, a white man in an old Buick pulled up and, in English, asked if we were looking for a place to stay. We were immediately skeptical, and tried to shoo him off, but he started to tell us about himself. He owned a hotel in town called El Capitan, he said. He built it when he moved here after retiring from the German navy. Jason was immediately intrigued and struck up a conversation with him in German. He liked us, told us he had several open rooms, and that we could stay there for $10 a night. With large storm clouds forming on the horizon, we agreed, crammed in the back of his Buick, and were off to El Capitan in the Karma Buick.
We arrived at the hotel... and were amazed.
The place was beautiful, and had many a hammock for us to hang out in. The Captain came out, chatted with us, and invited us to have dinner at his restaurant. We accepted, and he sat down to a dinner of cerviche, pollo, y arroz with us. During the dinner, we asked him about himself, and the stories started to pour out. We listened to intense stories of work in Saudi Arabian, South American, and European ports told through his thick German accent long into the night. Finally, we retired, ready to explore the pueblo come morning.
The echos of dogs barking, buses honking, mothers yelling, and a crowd cheering echo up to me from the valley below. Up here, the air is still, but for an occasional cool breeze that floats by causing the tall grasses around my hands to whisper secrets to each other. The short breezes carry away some of the thickly saturated air around me and drys, temporarily, the copious amounts of sweat from my arms. The occasional bug adds to the soft chorus below.
Upon waking, we had decided to adventure up La India Dormida - one of the mountains surrounding El Valle. The mountain is so named because it takes the shape of a sleeping woman; along those same lines the town is so named because it is in located in the valley of the mountains. This we were able to figure out before arriving at the top of La India Dormida. What we did not realize, however, was that 'the valley' was not a typical valley - it was the caldera of a once active volcano.
The echos of dogs barking, buses honking, mothers yelling, and a crowd cheering echo up to me from the valley below. Up here, the air is still, but for an occasional cool breeze that floats by causing the tall grasses around my hands to whisper secrets to each other. The short breezes carry away some of the thickly saturated air around me and drys, temporarily, the copious amounts of sweat from my arms. The occasional bug adds to the soft chorus below.
Upon waking, we had decided to adventure up La India Dormida - one of the mountains surrounding El Valle. The mountain is so named because it takes the shape of a sleeping woman; along those same lines the town is so named because it is in located in the valley of the mountains. This we were able to figure out before arriving at the top of La India Dormida. What we did not realize, however, was that 'the valley' was not a typical valley - it was the caldera of a once active volcano.
The floor of the valley is densely green, yet dotted with the burgundy and silver of rusting tin roofs of the houses and the green of an occasional pasture. A baseball field - the source of the cheering crowd - is also visible. Surrounding the town stand mountaintops covered in thick jungle to the west and open grasslands to the east.
The trail up to the top of the mountain is covered in thick Panamanian jungle and steep slopes with brilliant, several story waterfalls crashing down them.
The trail up to the top of the mountain is covered in thick Panamanian jungle and steep slopes with brilliant, several story waterfalls crashing down them.
I had one of the best trailruns of my life along the rim of that old volcano... the slight breezes cooled my skin and I felt light and fast in my sandals. It felt like running should feel. I felt free.
